World Poetry Contest

Do you like to write? Well here is the sweeps for you! Submit your poem and be entered to win $1,000 and other prizes! World Poetry Contest – Consumers can submit a poem to the Open Amateur Poetry Contest.

Comments

The memory of a ghost is like
soil, sun and water…
keeping the perennials rising up again every spring.
The only way to free a lost soul is to keep the memories
and hold close them to your heart,
so never to let them wander from realm to realm
waiting for impossible answers.

Wake them!
Where trenches were escapades and rotted old palaces
and the dead were amusement for the young and mischievous.
Wake them!
Where footprints would fade quickly with the gust of wind’s design-
A pattern in turn gives the dead a mission and the living
a place to hide.
But why with shallow echo cries,
would a voice so true be unheard?

Like a beast in rage or a dog in heat,
we’ll almost choose to hunt,
but instead we’ll help them to rise-
soaring in and out until the last roaring
waves begin to yield, soon to liquidate
the sparkly sands, turning them into dark, mushy mud.

As dominoes would, we’ll cast these incubi into the waters
until we multiply in wave forms hurdling over the calm –
as The Ripple-
The effect the few have over the many
will now be transposed.

The dead know this.

The Return

Wandering through the dragon’s lair
temptation’s fumes ignite,
flare raging on with-
like eyes without sockets-
a bulging face of tyranny
attempting to poison
the butterfly
in her delicate innocence.
Wisdom known;
predatory fear forgotten
after chrysalis shell withered away,
yet sapience remains
deep within her core.
When the raging beast returns-
his piercing stare will try to devour her
like a spider, his web ready, but she,
who is so unaware-
has already departed
leaving behind only the residual wave
of a nurturing yellow flower.

The Tree of Life

Like a tree without branches-
no shame, just lack of living creatures
breathing life into its essence!
A neighboring tree, full of branches
leaves and animals
feels no pride
and no remorse
or even guilt-
for it too is just a tree for the dead to see-
a tree, fulfilled, unaware of its fateful decay.
Both may be seen –
but only ones with acute ears will hear
limb-less tree’s burdened cries!
Cries not for shame,
pity, or a bittersweet embrace-
but only for the lack of support it can provide.
To sustain life is to breathe!
Awareness of his youthful neighbor’s joy,
keeps him at peace.